Here I am, 11am and still awake -- I didn't even look at my bed tonight, but I knew that was coming long before the night crested very good. I am . . . frustrated more than I am tired. I ran dungeons on my warrior and just zoned for . . . I don't really know how many hours.
The entire night though, I couldn't get this song out of my head that bunny sent me after a conversation we have been having basically since I saw my psychologist the other day.
SO basically, my psychologist was doing one of those questionaire bullshit things to measure if you have the "symptoms" of whatever. One of the questions was. . ."Do you have a hard time making friends?"
Well truthfully? No. People rarely dislike me when they meet me. In fact, quite the opposite is true. They fall in love with me, get addicted to me, and are just generally attracted to being around me and the life that I have created for them to see.
Now, do I care for all of these people. Yes. Do I miss them? Every last one. Even the ones that stabbed me in the back, spat in my face, and laughed when I stumbled and fell as I ran away. . No, never just out of town -- Not out of the county, but states away. There was never enough distance to be put between me and these various people that I have loved passionately as friends and the few romantic lovers I have held for short periods of time. Yes, I clearly see that my default setting is -flight- when it comes to getting terrible close for terribly long.
These are all the same people that I would more than readily fight for in any given circumstance, justified or not. It's like when I care for people it's with such and intensity that it is overwhelming and then I make the mistake of assuming that they should, in turn, reciprocate this dedication that I have shown them in exorbitant amounts.
The sad part is that these people bleed me dry emotionally and in any other way that they can. They utilize the energy and the fact that I never sleep to serve a purpose. It's not always the same, but I fall into it everytime; Sometimes I even know I am doing it, but I do it anyway. It wasn't until just very recently that I have known people that have . . .recognized? sympathized? felt sorry for? I don't know what it is, but it's something.
My best friend from the time I was, I don't know, 5 maybe? was my Brother. He was my hero in so many ways. He was there when everyone else had turned their backs. He was the one that basically rescued me after my mom kicked me out for wanting to go to college.
Let me talk about Noah a bit -- He was pretty much amazing from the get go. Everyone loved and adored Noah. He was the All-American man that people aspired to be like. He never scored below A - average's , he was the starting quarterback, the lead in every theatrical performance, a black belt, always helping everyone that he could and eventually he went off to serve, as he said, "A purpose higher than [him]self." Noah so gallantly rode off in that military plane to Iraq, knowing the potential consequences and seeing no other options but to face them; such courage and such care. He carried beanie babies in his pockets to hand out to the different kids, hoping to inspire something other than hate and war in their tiny hearts.
He even made one last trip to try to save me from my own self-destructive prison that I had locked myself into when I lived in New York. He sat me down that day and dared me to lie to him about the situation I was in. . . I promised him I was fine and that life was indeed much more grand than I could have EVER imagined - - - But I fear that even thought he left that day that the bruises on my face were enough to tell the truth. I was good at creating alternate realities. I always had been -- Perhaps I even believed what I was saying then. I probably did --
I eventually got to the point that my perception of love was so warped. I actually believed that the only form of affection was in the moments that I cowered in the corner while images of my childhood flooded back just before the first violently angry blow. Why was he so angry with me? I would question this often as I meekly took the fits of ravenous rage that tore at much more than my flesh. It still gives me a sick feeling to my stomach as I think of those times -- And many other times, but they haunt me.
I don't really talk about it. I am ashamed. How did I ever let that happen to me? I had promised myself that I would never let the very thing that I watch my own mother endure through tragic mishap-pen relationship after even more fucked up relationship. And there I was, like a moron daydreaming as he used me like his own personal stress ball and then smiled as I lied about the especially tough "rugby" practice. (Granted, I legitimately DID play rugby....It was never as bad as the sport called Jonby.)
Somehow I became convinced that horrific things he did were just his way of showing affection to me because for whatever reason I was sub-human. Sometimes I would have preferred that he just hit me over the things he would do just to simply fuck with my mind. I was struggling with so much -- I still struggled to cling to, what is now a shattered faith. I really wanted to do the right things, but he preferred any option that would simply stroke his ego I suppose and torment me.
Yea, sometimes I post a lot of music videos, because they can kinda get my point across and how I am feeling. Anyway...
So enough about that for now and back to Noah. So he was amazing in every way and an upstanding and respectable human being -- He never came home from Iraq. And I wonder why him and not me somehow? I wish I could take is place, because honestly I fuck up everything I touch eventually -- Don't get me wrong, when I am good I am fucking amazing . .. for a bit. . . then I fumble and fuck it all up. It's never, "oops you made a small mistake," and its ALWAYS something of nuclear proportions leaving everyone completely dazed and confused by the bombshell.
My brother stood by me through the tough fuckups and other than that? Everyone else faded into the dark after no more than 3 years ever at a time. That's like tops. HAH. I think I have know Randi for a little over 4 years now and Robert I knew for uhm.........gosh I don't know I was like 18 the first we ever kinda met.
I guess my goal is to figure out exactly what makes me spin so violently control toward these mishaps and mistakes and ultimately to the grande finale of an explosion.
I need to go make work words again...Maybe I will come back for more later.
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